


O, bear me witness, night

by anderswasright



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-15
Updated: 2011-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-23 18:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/253590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anderswasright/pseuds/anderswasright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of the battle for Winterfell, post-ADWD. Spoilers obviously. The title is a quote from Antony and Cleopatra, said by Enobarbus whose final monologue partly inspired this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O, bear me witness, night

  


THEON

Snow covered the battlefield, soft and thick, it already began to bury the dead. The storm stopped at the afternoon when Stannis' men finally met the armies of Winterfell, now it was falling in complete silence.  
The King has been wounded and was now looked after in the great hall along with others. Lord Manderly's help came just in time when fortune seemed to favor the Boltons. Theon remembered the look on Roose's face when all the Northern Lords turned on them. Still, the Leech Lord managed to escape - after his supposed final stand, he wasn't found among the fallen. Stannis, while throwing atrocities on the maester who handled his injury, said no matter, he won't get anywhere in this snow, it would be pointless to send out men to search for him at night. They'll look for him tomorrow.  
"At least his bastard is dead" the King added. "You saw him die, didn't you, Turncloak?"  
They still called him like that, even after Manderly testified he didn't kill Bran and Rickon.  
Theon swallowed before he could answer. He found Stannis only slighly less scary than the Boltons, and he felt odd. He had to force himself to think coherently.  
"I did, Your Grace. His own bitches ate him."  
"Not like he didn't deserve it, but how could that happen?"  
"I... I didn't expect it. He had me sleeping among the girls. They were fond of me, but I never thought they'd turn against their master when he attacked me."  
Stannis snorted.  
"I would have preferred to give him to R'hllor."  
The King didn't look happy despite the victory. He was too tired to even deal with Mance Raider who had to explain what Melisandre did and why he was here. Stannis' eyes promised unpleasant questions for the red priestess.  
"Tomorrow!" He insisted. "Off with you, Greyjoy."  
He staggered out of the great hall, only to find Asha and Jeyne with Mance in the stables. Stannis allowed them to free him from the cage and they did everything to warm him up since no one else cared. The wildling didn't look too good, still half frozen, even after the She-Bear gave him a spare fur cloak. He was cluthing a cup of hot wine.  
There was a strange light in Jeyne's eyes. They were the wrong colour, but it didn't matter anymore. By now everyone knew the Boltons deceived them.  
"Is he really dead, Theon?"  
"Couldn't be deader" he said with a faint smile. He still couldn't believe it. Ramsay charged at them in the battle, Theon tried to protect Jeyne but he was no match with a sword. The Bastard's blade pierced his side. It was but a moment. Then the dogs turned on their master. Jeyne fainted and all Theon remembered was chaos, blood and horrible screams. His brain refused to recall more.  
He didn't know how he carried Jeyne to Winterfell. The battle was finished soon after Ramsay died, the gates were open and no one bothered them. Asha and the She-Bear, both covered in blood, took care of the girl. Theon didn't tell them he was wounded. He almost forgot about it. The bleeding stopped in the cold, the pain was dim and the whole memory was but a nightmare. Then he had to report to the King and he had other things to worry about.  
"Now we can go home" Asha said. "Stannis won't bother us at least for a few days. More if we're lucky. We can leave, no one cares about us."  
"What about your bear lady?" Jeyne said.  
"Stannis sent her North with a few men, to bring the news of his victory to the Wall. Apparently Ramsay sent the Lord Commander a letter claiming _he_ won. So, we're free. We should leave at the morning."  
Theon just looked at her in confusion. Leave? Why?  
"Are you all mad?" Mance whispered. He caught a bad cold out in the cage and now barely had his voice. "Where the hell would you go in this snow? It's not even you Stannis wants to roast. You'd all die out in the wilderness."  
Asha pressed her lips into a thin line and Theon knew this sign all too well.  
"We're tougher than you think, wildling. I have a plan. Theon, you weren't present on the kingsmoot. There is a precedent that allows us to..."  
"No" he heard his own voice.  
His sister looked at him as if he was mad.  
"No?"  
"I won't be your puppet king, Asha. No one would ever vote for me. Look at me! I can't even sire heirs."  
"That doesn't count! You can always have your nephew or niece as heir. I'm fertile, rest assured."  
"You don't understand."  
He could barely stand. He had to lean against a pillar.  
"Your home isn't mine. It never had been. This is where I belong."  
"You were a hostage here!"  
"I had a brother here."  
Robb. Dear Robb. He could still see his laughing face, his unruly auburn curls. His King. His brother.  
"I should have never betrayed him. I should have died at his side."  
"About time you realize that" Mance said.  
Asha was speechless for a while.  
"Are you serious? You really want to remain here?" She blurted out then.  
"I just want peace." He left without another word, stepping out into the cold night.  
From the warmth of the stable he began to bleed again. He didn't feel much pain, he just wanted to sleep. It had been such a long day.  
His instincts brought him to the godswood once again.  
He fell on his knees before the weirwood and cried out in anguish.  
"Gods of the North, I repent! Robb... if you can hear me... wherever you be now... please, forgive me if you can. I just wanted to be like you. I wanted a home. A real family. And I ruined everything. Let the world remember me as a turncloak. Let my memory be damned. All I ask is _your_ forgiveness."  
At the end he was lying in the snow, sobbing desperately. The weirwood was whispering, he couldn't make out the words, but it was calming and familiar. He drew closer, huddling up against the tree, resting his head on the bark, his ragged cloak covering snow and roots, thin white hair falling on his collar. It was all so quiet.  
He wasn't weeping anymore, he smiled sadly. He couldn't feel the cold. Even in his mother's arms, he couldn't be more safe and comfortable. His eyes closed.  
Home. At last, he was at home.


End file.
